Fire In The Belly
by chikinita09
Summary: How do you break up a sham-relationship with a girl, everybody wants, but only wants you? Hermione feels conflicted. Hermione/Astoria FEMSLASH era: Hogwarts
1. Prologue

**A/N: ****This is a spin-off of my other story "What A Wicked Game You Play", but can be understood without having read its original version.  
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**WARNING: It contains femslash/femmeslash. Astoria Greengrass/Hermione Granger. Don't like, don't read. :)  
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**Other pairing: Harry/Ginny; Ron/Lavender; others**

**Just like in my other story, I took the liberty and made ASTORIA GREENGRASS A YEAR OLDER THAN SHE IS IN CANON. She's 15 years old in her fourth year, just like Hermione is 17 in her sixth year.**

**DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. The Potterverse belongs to J. K. Rowling.  
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**Title: Fire In The Belly**

**By chikinita09**

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**Prologue**

People's shocked yet intrigued expressions upon seeing Astoria Greengrass ravishing my mouth with her own in the most scandalous way possible has most likely pushed our names on the top 10 list of "Hogwarts' Hottest Couples".

She loves the attention.

She loves the show.

She loves it. I hate it. Well, not the feel of her lips on mine, I admit, but the staring of those spectators watching us kiss.

Half the males of Hogwarts would sell their souls to the dementors in Azkaban just to see us in live action between the sheets, while part of them would've given anything only to join us. And the rest would wish to be in my position. They love to imagine the kind of dirty things going on when we disappear together in a broom closet and re-appear with our lips swollen, lipsticks smeared, the buttons of our clothes undone and our hair dishevelled.

But what they would never know is that behind all the 'hot scenes' between Astoria and I, there lies coldness. In fact, it's nothing more than just some innocent show, except for a little smooching. No real action, that is; we make out a bit, yes, but if she's going too far like when she's pushing up my skirt only to freak me out, I hit her. In the face. We start to wrestle and fight in hushed voices and struggle until our clothes look messy. With our faces flushed in anger, my eyebrows furrowed, while a cocky smile is on her face, we leave the broom closet and head back to our respective classrooms or common rooms.

Even when we're alone together and know that no one's expecting a 'show' she's not very affectionate either, and even sweet is an exaggeration to her usually indifferent behaviour towards me. She doesn't like to cuddle or hug unless there's something in it for her that benefits her budding lust.

She would not hold my hand or stroke my cheek just simply because she can't resist touching me. She would never whisper sweet nothings into my ear, or look me intently in the eye and flatter me how beautiful she thinks my eyes are, only to make me feel special. But she does kiss me in a way that would make onlookers blush.

She is not a hopeless romantic. She would never do sweet, simple things like sending me thoughtful little gifts just to show how she feels about me; send me hand-written letters to express her feelings for me; surprise me with an impromptu picnic somewhere or with breakfast in bed to make me smile, or pick me up after class only to take me out for lunch. She would never cook my favourite food or mix my favourite drink and bring it in my favourite mug. She would never ask me for a dance under the moon to my favourite music, and then kiss me softly on the lips to make me blush.

This very childish and playful girl, Astoria Greengrass—doing anything remotely close to being romantic? Maybe in a parallel universe where Voldemort is a fairly decent man doing paper work in an office and Harry Potter is only a fictional character of some author's vivid imagination.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not expecting this of her or of anyone if I were in an actual relationship with them. I'm only saying that she's not that kind of person who would move Heaven and Earth for me, Hermione Granger. Because I know she doesn't like girls _that_ _way_—that's what _she _had said. When she blushes it's because she's good at acting; she enjoys the rush from kissing me in public, that's where her blush comes from.

She would never take me in her arms to hold me tight without directly touching my breasts when I least expect it. She does it only to incense me. She would giggle. I'd shriek and push her away, then she'd tackle me back down only to smother me with sloppy kisses on the face because she knows I hate that. You know, like I find it revolting when dogs, even though they are cute, they slobber over your face? Gross. Maybe I'm just not a dog lover; I love cats. Astoria's cuteness is that of a little puppy; even though she's adorable I find it revolting when she wets my face with her kisses.

One time, she put her head on my chest and stayed like that for a few minutes, her breathing slowing down. We'd collapsed from a pillow fight which she'd started, and the only reason I engaged was because she wouldn't let me study. We were in my dormitory room and all the girls went out, so she stayed with me to hang around. Anyway, while she was lying there, her baby-smooth hair fell over my face, I brushed it aside, gently. For a moment I thought she fell asleep so I let down my guard. I smiled peacefully, staring at the canopy of my bed. Suddenly, she pushed my blouse up and tickled me with her cold fingers, giggled, then pinned my arms above my head and licked me across the face. Ew. Shrieking, I pushed her off me and she flew off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thud. And still, she was laughing like a maniac.

Moments like this make me laugh, but most often, they make me feel uncomfortable.

To emphasize this, we're not in a real relationship; we can't even say that we're friends.

But that Astoria Greengrass managed to make my heart swell with love over time I will never fully understand. And that she fell in love with me first, I guess _she_ will never understand. She once told me—and this is something she truly believes in—that "The one who falls in love first, loses". I believe she read this in a teen magazine. Right. And that it only starts to hurt the moment you begin to care.

Neither of us planned it to happen—this "Us"; and "We" didn't even see it coming. Love has no rules or restrictions. It's inevitable. It's something you cannot easily refuse when you don't want it, especially when it's between two girls from rival houses. When it's between two girls. Period.

Now we do make out once in a while basically because it's part of our verbal agreement.

_Our_ deal. _The_ Deal.

_Her_ vengeance. To get back at her sister and ex-boyfriend.

She doesn't have to know that, mainly, I did it for her. To help her out in her grieving. I wanted to be there for her because she needed a 'friend'. Merlin, she came to me months ago when her boyfriend cheated on her with her older sister. She _begged_ me to help her. Me, Hermione Granger—for crying out loud, a Gryffindor, her boyfriend's worst enemy's best friend. _The_ Mudblood she, like every Slytherin, despised. And as I've said, we weren't even friends.

So you can imagine the kind of shock we both experienced once we realised our true feelings for each other—almost at the same time.

It all started when we were sitting in the library; she was staring at me for a while, studying my face curiously, and then asked,

"So, you wanna have sex with me?"

"What?" I thought I misheard her and only gave her a dirty look.

"I mean, we could go further than just snog, you know," she suggested, wagging her perfectly trimmed eyebrows. "I reckon you taste good."

"Gross. No way!" I ducked my head and quickly glanced up and down the aisle. I'm used to her talking dirty to me all the time, but I also know that she's only testing my reaction.

She laughed in her high, joyous sound of laughter, giggling at the face I made because the thought of it made me internally cringe. Truth be told, I wasn't opposed to the thought of having sex with her—she was a beautiful and attractive girl, after all, with her long, straight blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders like liquid gold, hugging her pale, angelic face, her green eyes sparkling like the purest emeralds when lights hit them, and whenever she smiled…

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, sex. With her. No.

She did mean it as a joke; of course, I knew that, nothing that ever came from her could be taken seriously. How would she have reacted if I'd answered, "Sure, how does next Saturday sound after our fake-date?' Hmm…

Did I mention that she loves teasing me?

"Why not?" she asked, challenging, her chin on her hands while she kept staring at me. I was helping her revise her essay. "It would be fun, I guess. You look so damn sexy when you write this boring essay for me."

I looked daggers at her, shoving her essay over to her. However, it was hard to stay angry with her when she looked so adorable. "You write it yourself. I have written some keywords to serve as a guide. Here," I said, crossing my arms.

For the record, even though she did look like a younger version of the Roman goddess Venus, I was not attracted to her. She was just simply not my type. My type being more…well, _manly_, like the famous, broad-chested Quidditch player, Viktor Krum, my former crush on the charming Professor Lockhart, and then there was…my lousy best friend, Ronald Weasley. The arse. If only he wasn't dating the tramp she-zilla a.k.a Lavender Brown.

She smiled at me, trying to sound seductive. "Did I mention how cute you look when you're being bossy?"

"Shut up and write."

Imagine that only six months later—okay, six months is such a bloody long time, but still—I actually gave in to her. _Gave in_ hmm… might not be the appropriate word, considering that _I_ was the one who tore her black dress apart and straddled her legs, pinning her on the bed. She didn't have to beg or ask for it unlike the one hundred and one times she did before only to tease me. She didn't have to seduce me either, or even fill me up with alcohol just to make my mental judgment cease in exchange for a temporary blissful moment with her.

There was one thing, however, the only romantic gesture she'd ever made, that changed my feelings for her completely.

You never guess what she did. Just thinking about it still makes me smile…

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**A/N: If you liked it so far, pretty please leave a response below. Any constructive criticism or correction of my awful grammar is very much appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 1: It's Still Fake

**A/N: Thanks for coming back. Here's chapter 2. Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 1 – It's Still Fake**

I wake up and find it strange that I'm lying uncomfortably on the edge of my four-poster bed, my duvet and bedspread strewn on the floor, cotton blanket entangling one of my legs, and my pillows all gone. I shiver at the coldness and lift an arm behind me to search blindly for my beloved pillows, when I suddenly hit something soft. Soft like flesh. With that in mind I notice an arm is draped over my torso, and heat pressed against my back.

Merlin. What the Hell?

Did I—Oh God—Did I jump in bed with a stranger last night and now can't seem to remember? Very unlikely. Think… Think… It's not like I got wasted, right? I don't even like liquor…

"Quit tossing," the person behind me mumbles sleepily.

"Blimey, Ginny?" I shriek, looking behind me. "What are you doing here? Again." I roll my eyes and push her off me. She is wrapped warmly in most of my blanket, pillows—_my_ pillows—are on the other side of her, untouched.

With a start I instinctively look down on me, wondering whether I was naked, and hence, would have explained this messy situation. But I notice that I'm still wearing my nightie and my blue underwear, and Ginny is in her boxer shorts and a Pygmy Puff t-shirt. Relief ripples through me.

Not that I would ever roll in the hay with my female best friend, I'm sure. Ginny has troubles sleeping at night and sometimes comes to me. But usually, she would ask me first for permission if she can sleep over, and not like this, start the hell out of me. Damn you, Ginny Weasley, I'm not even wearing my pyjama bottom.

I peek over at my clock which read 5:24AM, the beginning of my day, while everyone else is still chasing unicorns in their sleep—except perhaps for Ginny, who's battling with dragons.

Getting up, I head for the bathroom, take a quick shower, get dressed, empty my bladder, and brush my teeth. But not in this order, mind you. I wand-dry my untamed, frizzy hair and frown at the reflection that greets me in the mirror—this is actually part of my morning routine—then I go downstairs to the common room.

While doing some advance reading for Charms, and revising my essay for Transfiguration, I barely notice the time passing by, when Harry and a few other students enter the common room. Harry greets me with an unenthusiastic smile, and drops on the armchair near the fireplace. Maybe he's seen himself in the mirror, too.

"Morning," he says, rubbing at his eyes. Then he sees the pile of books in front of me on the table, notices my busy face as I write down neatly the last paragraph of my essay. "Oh crap," he groans.

"What's wrong?" I respond, looking up.

"That essay, is it due to today?"

"Yes, you can copy mine if you allow me to finish it," I say curtly.

He relaxed, literally melting in relief in his seat and plops down on the floor. "This is why I love you more than Ron, Hermione." He stands and sits back on the armchair, grinning.

Giving him a strange look, I say, "Metaphorically speaking, I hope; because I cannot envision you and Ron actually loving each other _that way_." I shiver just to mock him.

"Thanks for that image, '_Mione_," he retorts, knowing that I can't stand my nickname. "Anyway, how's the weather on the other side of the fence? You've been dating like—correct me if I'm wrong—like 4 months now?"

What? Has my pretence relationship with the most sought-after girl in school really been so long now? Certainly, people were counting the days. I used to imagine them hunting me down with a pitchfork and feeding me to the Giant Squib, making it seem like an accident so that Astoria Greengrass could be a single again.

"Don't be silly," I snap, "it's only been three months and three weeks." I wince.

"Oh, my bad," he says, chuckling. He seems rather solemn when he adds, "I'm glad though that you Ginny and have made up. I mean it. She's been worse than a ghoul, not to mention her looks when she was—"

"What's that?"

Harry, blanching, stops mid-sentence at the other voice; when I look behind me, I see Ginny standing at the dormitories staircase.

"Good morning, Ginny," I greet her. "Had a nice sleep?"

"Nothing's good about this morning. How did I end up in your bed?" she asks me accusingly. Straightening her uniform skirt, she walks over to Harry and sits in his lap, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Up so early?" Then she pinches him. "Were you just bad-mouthing me?"

"'Course not," he replies, looking affronted.

"I believe you have been sleepwalking, Ginny," I tell her, gathering my belongings. "Just let me know next time when you want to sleep over, because, as you may have noticed, I was only wearing—" I drop my head when I see Harry watching me curiously, I blush. "Nevermind."

"Blimey, so what? It's more comfortable that way. Besides, I've seen you a hundred times naked before when you stayed at The Burrow," she teases. Harry's face turns red. And with her hair falling between her and her boyfriend like a curtain, obscuring her face, she winks at me. "You have such smooth thighs, Hermione. Your girlfriend is such a lucky girl."

"In your dreams, Ginny!" I say smugly, smirking. "Honestly, she's never touched my thighs, trust me, or I'd have cut off her hands a long time ago." I sneer, thinking back of the time when I smacked Astoria across the face when she had touched my breast while we were both intoxicated with, well, mild chocolate liquor. Don't judge me; I'm just not a drinker.

Ginny laughs softly, suddenly interested. "You mean, you're not sleeping with her?"

Harry coughs, pretending to be busy by staring at his fingernails.

"No," I reply. Then I realise that they aren't supposed to know why that is, that my relationship with Astoria is faker than Lavender's dyed hair, so I conceded quickly, "Well, we're taking things slowly. But I will—" I blush and drop my head.

I meet Ginny's eyes when I turn. Once again after so long, for a fraction of a second, I notice her smile crumbles. Ginny and I never dated as a couple, no mutual romantic feelings, but she's been the first one who has been closer to me that can be compared to an actual romantic relationship. And for this very reason, our last fight had lasted over almost three months. Because of jealousy.

I tell Harry that I'll leave my essay on the table for him to copy and head outside the common room.

The Great Hall is slowly filling up with students, taking their seats. Once I got seated, I fold my napkin in my lap and wait for the others to arrive. Ginny and Harry take the seats opposite mine; Ron sits with Neville and the rest while his girlfriend is seated with Parvati further away from him. I'm glad that I can enjoy my breakfast without having to retch at their sweet talks and smooching this time. She cast a smile my way, and I choose to wave back with a smile matching hers.

A pair of arms wrap gently around my shoulders, lips kissing my cheek. I didn't have to look up to see who it is.

"Good morning, McGorgeous," Astoria greets me, then, with a frown on her face—I call it her 'morning-frown', because she's hardly frowning, only in the morning—dashes away quickly when the first owls arrive to deliver the morning post. She hates owls.

While I sit there, munching on a piece of toast with nutella, I ponder about this fake relationship with the young blonde. Technically, her vengeance on her sister and ex-boyfriend is completed and has been a great success. We had the whole school on our side when it happened and everybody seemed accepting of us.

Astoria comes to me every morning, greets me in a lovely way, skips classes to see me in my free period, meets me after class for…sometimes her tutorial session, sometimes for our make-out session.

Why is it still fake?

What's the difference between this one and a real one?

Why does she still want to see me?

By the time my last class, DADA, ended, I shoulder my rucksack and think about a birthday present to send to my mum. I received an owl from my dad this morning, asking me for advice, any ideas I might have, for him to surprise mum with. I walk outside and, not surprisingly, my fake-girlfriend stands there, beaming. I know at once that she's up to no good.

She tosses her hair aside and pulls me into a firm kiss. Unlike the many times before, she doesn't peek over my shoulder to search for the outraged looks of her evil big sister and her arrogant boyfriend, Malfoy.

She doesn't do this nowadays anymore. Weird.

This is the first time I notice this.

We walk together outside in silence. There is a gargoyle fountain where the third year students assemble before visiting Hogsmeade. But since it isn't a Hogsmeade weekend, and the week has just started, no one is there.

Astoria sits down, dips her left hand in the water and draws with her fingers circles and hearts on the stone, lost in thoughts. The way she sits there, at total peace, smiling to herself, golden hair hanging over her shoulders, looking as if kissed by the afternoon sun, one might actually assume that she's an angel from heaven…

"We really should try it out sometimes," she suddenly says.

"Try out what?"

"Sex."

Well, she does look like an angel if she doesn't open her mouth.

I'm flabbergasted, like every time when we have this kind of conversation. "Are you serious? I told you we can't," I tell her, crossing my arms and feeling uncomfortable again.

"Why not?" she protests.

"Please, just drop it, alright? We should go back to the castle. It looks like it's going to rain and—" I stare up at the cloudless blue sky, birds flying over our heads, chirping…and mocking me. Damnit. "—I don't want to get wet," I add in a mumble and frown.

"What's that? You don't want to get wet?" she asks me impishly, giggling. "Oh I make sure you enjoy it."

"Oh grow up!" I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

Averting her piercing gaze, I look sideways and see some of the younger students playing hide-and-seek, running outside the castle and hiding behind rocks and bushes. I believe when I was their age, I never played hide-and-seek. I faced a troll in my first year, assisted Harry in fighting the Basilisk, time-travelled with Harry to save Buckbeak and Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Even before my years at Hogwarts I'd rather read books than hang out with my friends—whether imaginary or real. I should get a life, I decide, secretly envying Astoria for her carefree attitude.

In my momentary daze, I didn't realise that Astoria has stepped in front of me. She searches my eyes and then tilts my chin. She's only bloody fifteen years old but towers over me with at least two inches.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asks me, genuinely concerned.

I shrug. "Honestly? Yes."

"Look, it's normal to talk about stuff like this. We can take it slowly if that's what you wish," she offers me. Right, she's still talking about _that_…

"Take it slowly?" I exclaim, huffing. "Why? I mean—" And then I remember what I have been thinking about earlier, regarding our charade and why she is still around even though our deal was long over. "I don't even know why we're still 'dating'." I draw quotation marks in mid-air as I say this. She steps back, looking confused. "We took a pretty good revenge on your sister, didn't we? And remember Malfoy's mortified look? Wasn't that a big success? Mission accomplished. Right? So, why are we still together?"

This is what I hate about this. When she looks at me like that, she makes me feel like a soulless ogre.

"I—I thought," she stammers. "Weren't we getting along well?"

"Yeah, I think we were, but…"

"Listen, we can't just 'break up' right after our deal is over. I don't want to cause any suspicions, you know," she says in a lowered voice.

"I understand, but…"

"So we can still hang around together. Right?" She chirps in a sing-song voice, hooking her arms with mine and dragging me down to sit on the edge of the fountain. She laughs as if nothing awkward just happened.

Oh. Blimey.

While we sit there, engaged in some girly chit-chat about clothes and the latest trends of fashion, school gossips and wizarding music, I'm silently plotting a plan to break up this fake-relationship with her. Because a part of me thinks that this lovely girl deserves someone better.

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**A/N: So, what do you think? Will Hermione be able to break up with her fake-girlfriend? ^^ **

**Please leave a response below if you liked it so far. I would really, really, really love it, and it will inspire me to write more. The next chapter will take a little longer... **


	3. Chapter 2: BreakUp Plan

**Chapter 2 – Break-Up Plan**

Isn't it interesting how nothing ever goes exactly the way you plan? Take yesterday's lunchtime, for example. I've slipped a note to Astoria in the morning at breakfast when she came to greet me with a smile so bright it could light the entire castle, informing her that I'd love to speak to her before lunch. Keeping it sweet. She didn't show. I thought maybe she just didn't read the note, or got suspicious about my sudden request that she deliberately disregarded my note.

That afternoon as I was sitting at the Gryffindor table having lunch, I let my eyes wander towards the Slytherin table. Blond hair usually stands out amongst a crowd of brunettes, like Malfoy's or the Greengrass sisters', hence, my eyes caught sight of one of them. The older Greengrass sat beside Parkinson, cutting leisurely at her meal—I assume she was eating steak, I couldn't tell from the distance, and it doesn't really matter, anyway—and sipping at her pumpkin juice glass. I noticed how her elbows were pressed close to her body, not touching the table, her back straight, blonde hair pulled up to a neat ponytail. She took her napkin and dabbed her mouth before taking another sip of her drink.

Such a ladylike manner, I thought in admiration, this is likely how they must have been raised at home. But then I thought of Astoria and her ungracious table manners. Maybe Astoria's been adopted or raised by a pair of goblins.

The younger Greengrass was seated at the other end of the table amongst her fourth year girlfriends and having a private food fight. We had green peas and pickled carrots for lunch; I assume this was what they had been throwing at each other across the table. Then Astoria dipped her fingers in what I could only assume was the bowl of mashed potatoes, and smeared it at her neighbour's face. As she was licking her fingers clean, she caught my eyes, dropped her head in shame and blushed. She stifled a giggle when I frowned at her.

Suddenly I wondered why I was fake-dating this girl; she was like Ron; only a girl—and well, pretty. Thinking back even as a child I never played with food and Astoria is bloody fifteen years old!

When I asked Astoria after lunch where she had been at the appointed time, she told me that she had detention. We would catch up later after class, she told me, giving me a peck on the lips.

I wasn't able to talk to her in private since, either we'd be interrupted or she'd have another detention or she'd just choose a place where we can't be alone together. Each time we saw each other, she'd try something else to distract me like silencing me with a kiss, dissipating my strong resolve of wanting to break up with her.

It will be different this time.

The rain splatters angrily against the common room windows, lightning cracking and rumbling at the horizon, followed by explosive thunder.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" Ginny asks beside me, looking up from the book she was reading. We are sharing a duvet together, and I feel her foot nudging me. "Is something bothering you?"

"What? No. I was just thinking what to send my mum for her birthday," I half-lie. "It's next week and I ran out of ideas." This is another thing I have been worrying about too, I can't think of anything to send my mum that isn't a magical item bought in Hogsmeade. From the corner of my eye I notice that Ginny is eyeing me. I couldn't tell Ginny about my plan on breaking up with Astoria Greengrass when there are too many people around.

"What about writing her a poem?" she suggests.

I moan. "No, that's supposed to be my gift for her for Christmas. You see, she loves going to musicals, like 'The Phantom of the Opera' or to ballets, like 'Swan Lake'. The latter is her favourite, but it's generally sold out if not pre-ordered. But even _if_ I remembered doing so two months ago, ordering 2 tickets from here would have been tricky and inconvenient. I'm so stupid I didn't come up with something else or at least an alternate gift," I ramble on, berating myself. "It would've made her so happy."

"Oh, too bad," Ginny says in sympathy, "doesn't seem like they sell Phantom of whatever-the-heck tickets in Hogsmeade, eh? Cheer up, Hermione. I'm sure your mum will be happy about anything you send her. It's the thought that counts, isn't it?"

"Not only that," I keep talking, not hearing what Ginny just said, "but with my allowance I wouldn't have afforded them anyway."

"Why didn't you just ask your wealthy girlfriend about the money? I mean, you could pay it back later on."

"She has a name, Ginny," I tell her tersely, "And no, I can't borrow money from Astoria. I think I mentioned it to her before and actually implied that I would need some money, but I dropped the subject quickly. It didn't feel right. We're not even close."

"You're not close? She's your girlfriend, for crying out loud."

"Oh," I giggle. Right.

I rub my eyes, feeling suddenly weary and unmotivated to leave the common room and head outside in the cold, when it's all warm and comfy sitting here with my best friend by the fireplace. Admittedly, I missed bonding with Ginny.

But I have to get through with my plan. It's not like I can't stand Astoria or that I'm tired of her, that's certainly not it. She's a nice girl if she chooses to be. I just don't feel like dating someone half the school pines for, yet I keep to myself without even knowing how to make her happy; I can't be that selfish, I don't even love her. She deserves someone who's in love with her and fulfils her wishes and secret desires, and I certainly know what they are.

I touch my warm cheeks, and startle when I hear rumbles behind me.

Some of the boys behind us started a wrestling game, muffles and grunts coming from their direction as two of them try to throw and immobilize each other by grappling. I see Ron being one of the competitors, and I roll my eyes. He got Denis Creevey in a headlock and Harry, Seamus, Dean are cheering the git. He must be so proud of being stronger than a fourth year boy.

"So, how's she, by the way?" Ginny, then, asks casually, referring to Astoria. "You gonna see her later?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to get ready now but knowing her I believe she'd be late anyway."

She chuckles. "You don't seem enthusiastic, Hermione."

I get up and stretch my arms and body. I see Lavender flinging her arms over Ron and giving him a cheerful kiss for defeating a little boy.

With a shake of my head, I respond to Ginny's statement, "I'm going to break up with Astoria tonight."

I look, for the tenth time since arriving at the appointed place, at my wristwatch and glance down the hallway. Astoria is at least 20 minutes late.

_She's so dead if she ditches me tonight,_ I'm thinking, walking up and down the hallway. From my peripheral view, I notice conspicuous blonde hair, and as I am about to yell my frustration at her, I realise that it isn't Astoria.

It's Luna, drenched by the rain, barefoot and wearing a raincoat and scarf over her uniform.

"What on earth!" I exclaim, rushing to her side. "Are you crazy?" Maybe asking Loony Lovegood this question is a little laughable. "You're going to catch a cold."

"Hi Hermione," she greets me wearily. "Yes, it's a bit chilly, isn't it?"

"A bit? Where are your shoes?" I ask, frowning at her reddened feet.

"I took them off before I went to the Forbidden Forest," Luna explains airily, looking around her, "it wasn't raining earlier."

I nod, scrutinising her. "You should return to your common room, Luna. Hurry."

"I should look for my shoes first, don't you think?" she asks me, "Where did I lose them? Maybe a kneazle stole them again from me. They are rather fond of my shoes."

"You used to say that other students hide your shoes," I remind her, raising an eyebrow. "Anyway, what kind of shoes were you wearing this time?"

"A pair of sneakers, Hermione," she tells me, shivering from the cold.

"Then let's find them."

We spent like ten minutes looking for her sneakers, down the hill where she last wore them, then along the staircase leading to the first floor. I don't honestly know why she took them off in the first place, but I don't question her. Plus, I couldn't let Luna walk around barefoot. Even _I _am freezing my feet off despite my thick boots. So I turn to her and send her back to her common room, promising her to find her shoes for her.

I tsk when she left me behind, throwing another look at my wristwatch. Astoria is still not there.

"For heaven's, she loves it being tardy," I sigh, tapping my feet impatiently.

Another ten minutes later and finally, Astoria shows up, uniform muddy and hair smeared with slime. I step back, grimacing.

"Goodness! And what misfortune befell upon you?"

"What?" she asks me, giving me a queer look. Then she looks down at herself. "Oh, darn. Thought I Scourgified myself off this dirt. Sorry 'bout this. Had detention by Professor Flitwick, and he made me clean the tubs with all the snails inside. So gross."

"Detention? Again? For what?" Why am I even surprised?

She blushes and looks away. "Well, 'bout that. Funny incident. We were examining the slime of slug in Potions. I, well, _accidentally_ strew salt over mine, causing it to like, y'know, shrink like a prune. It was so disgusting." She grimaces, but smirks. "But fascinating."

"Oh Merlin, so you can't say it was an accident when in fact it was purely intentional." I shake my head in disbelief. "How could you do that to the poor snail? You knew it would kill it. And why did you have salt with you?"

"Got it from the kitchen beforehand, of course."

Of course. This little beast!

She gives me an indifferent shrug, and chuckles. She waves her wand a few times over herself to remove the remaining filth from her clothes and hair. "C'mon, it was just one slug. Stop freaking out. Here, I brought you a souvenir," says Astoria as she produces a flobberworm from her pocket and dangles it in front of my face.

I recoil in shock and slap her hand away, shrieking frantically. "Get that thing away from me! You're so horrible! And childish! Ugh." Really, I can't imagine that an alluring girl like her can be so cruel and evil sometimes. Which goes to show that you can't judge a dragon by its scales.

She throws the flobberworm outside the door in the bushes and turns to me, making kissy noises with her lips, hands folded to her chest. "Wanna make out?" she asks bluntly.

"You seriously expect me to make out with you after being late for almost 45 minutes?" I scold her, giving an exasperated huff, "And as if that wasn't already enough, you murdered a helpless snail and dumped a flobberworm outside in the bushes!"

It's frivolous, I know, but I need to stay angry with her to pull through with my plan. Hence, I focus on the fact that I've been freezing my _arse_ off waiting for her, that she has been late again because of another detention—for the third time this week—that she has been cruel to animals. Little things like that. I told you, it's hard to get angry with her.

With her hands raised in defence, taking a step backward, she says, "Woah, what are you so being bent out of shape about? I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry…" Then she steps forward and takes me into a sudden hug. My confusion immobilises me for a second; she speaks in my ear, "And I'm sure the flobberworm will find a better home, better than the one I rescued it from, you'll see," she assures me softly, and for some reason, my anger deflates.

I chuckle and hit her playfully. "Silly," I mumble against her shoulder and push her at arm's length away from me. Then, "We need to talk."

I walk outside the massive double doors, standing under the concrete front porch; I listen to the rumbling of thunders in the distance. Bright lightning cracks at the dark sky, as rain pours down angrily.

Astoria tugs at my arm and indicates me to sit down with her on the stone railing. She leans against the wall and pulls me to her so that I'm leaning with my back against her. She's usually not this sweet to me.

I can't break up with her in this comfortable position, so I shift and move away. But she holds me in place. "I think I can guess what we're going to talk about," she whispers.

She _knows_ what I'm about to do? I freeze.

I don't move, instead I just lie in her arms and feel the warmth of her body pressed against my back. And her warm breath at my ear.

And I thought this will be hard. I smile contently as another thunder erupts at the sky. I've prepared a long, soppy speech on how it'd be better if we don't see each other anymore and just "be friends", that cliché break-up line I so despise, that she should start dating boys, etc. But I won't need to tell her all that. Once this is over, I'll just walk away and she's free to date anyone she wants. Everything I wish for is that she doesn't end up like her sister and sleep around with boys. I'm aware of Astoria's raging hormones, but hopefully she'll find someone who cares about her just as much and who's as good-looking as she is, because then they'd have beautiful babies, and they can live together in a beautiful town, far far away from here, and…

I drop dead in my thoughts when I realise she is kissing my neck in a way she has never kissed me before. Very gentle and softly. She'd usually bite me and suck and worry my skin between her teeth until it hurts and I get bruises, but this time. Wow.

Wait.

No, wait. "Wha—What are you doing?" I ask her, my breath caught in my throat. Instead of pushing her head off from my sensitive neck, I pull her closer, but still I try to protest. "No, don't. Stop. That."

And then she draws away and I rip myself off her. My face feels warm and my stomach is tingling. I look at her in bewilderment, but she only smirks at me and giggles impishly.

This beast! She's trying to distract me again. And it bloody worked.

I won't let her.

"There's something I wanted to show you," she says, suddenly excited, as she digs in her inner robe pocket. _Please not another flobberworm, please_, I pray and inwardly cringe. She extracts two folded pieces of parchment, and hands it over to me. "Got my Herbology test paper back and my essay in Transfiguration. Professor Sprout, that _bitch_, insisted I take the test again because she thought I cheated. But my score got even better than the first. Here."

I eye her warily and take a look at it. On the head of the test paper with 25 questions pertaining the upbringing and care of magical plants, is her name scribbled in elegant, curvy handwriting, and beside it is the score she achieved. "Perfect score?" I exclaim.

"Yup, I only got 23/25 before that, but because of the retest I got perfect score. You should've seen that hag's shocked face when she returned my test paper to me." She beams proudly and smiles evilly, if doing both is even humanly possible.

"I'm so proud of you," I tell her honestly, squeezing her hand.

She rubs the back of her neck, suddenly blushing. "No one ever said that to me before," she chuckles. "Take a look at my essay."

I unfold it. The red ink written across the top of the parchment read Outstanding. I beam at her, and for some reason I don't know what came over me, I give her a kiss on the lips as if it's a natural thing between _girlfriends_.

She clutches my blouse and kisses me again. Longer this time, and she says in a low voice, "I owe that to you. Thank you so much. For studying with me. For inspiring me. And for motivating me. For everything."

"Stop this nonsense," I giggle and smack her arm. Then I add, "You did this all by yourself. I know you keep saying that you're _dumb_ but you're not. Goodness, I've seen you study and you can be very passionate about it. You're smart and beautiful and I know every boy would do anything to be with you."

There. I drop the bomb.

Her smile freezes as she pulls away from me. She nods once, smiling in understanding. She looks away. "I see. I'm sorry I've dragged this on for so long, I'm very sorry, Hermione. It's okay, though, I'll be fine."

"Look, it's not that I don't like you. You're a very sweet girl and—"

She touches my lips to silence me. "It's okay." She tries to smile, and I feel like such an arsehole for doing this, but still I keep in mind that it's only for her best.

"Can you do me a small favour, though?" I nod. Digging again in her robe pocket, she produces a small envelope and thrusts it in my hands. "Will you still accept this? No doubt you'll know what to do with these."

"What is it?"

She doesn't answer. Then she yawns and stands up, making a turn towards the castle's doors. "Hope, we can still hang out together, though," she says over her shoulder. "Good night."

Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, I turn the envelope and look inside, assuming it's another test paper of hers. I pull out what was inside and when I realise what they are, my hand clasp my gaping mouth and I feel tears welling in my eyes.

Clutched in my hand are two tickets to the Swan Lake ballet dated on next Saturday, on my mum's birthday. I lose control over my feelings but not just because of holding these sold out tickets in my hand, but that the seats are at the VIP lounges, plus two extra tickets granting admittance to the ballet after-show party.

My tears fall down freely, and I wonder why this infuriatingly amazing girl is doing this to me.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. So, what do you think? This is not the "romantic gesture" Hermione was talking about in the prologue though, because that one will be huge! Please leave a review/comment/any feedback below if you liked it so far. :) Check out my newest Astoria/Hermione story "All I Can Do Is Try", a Valentine's Day two-shot. c",)**


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